Monday, June 22, 2009

That Room

The room with the wing chair and the skin lamp,
the velvet curtain covering an obscene canvas
that room with the smell of embalming and stale forgiveness,
that room, your hideaway

You're in that room,
with a pearl handled letter opener in your hand,
and no letters
You're in the room with a sound like subterranean clockwork
Your room, your haven

The room with the whispering library, beautiful souls trapped in pages
Your room with the rose carpet stain, the perfect likeness
Your room with the raven, the cat
You need sunlight and the wind that will forget your past
And I need you with me at last

You've been in that room with
your third eye closed, and
I've been waiting too long

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